Moonlight Sonata
by Ceriadara
Summary: Rei is the son of the Emperor of China who falls in love with a Russian mercenary with cold crimson eyes. Now, he is caught: will he choose his throne...or his heart?
1. Concerto

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**Moonlight Sonata**

_By: Ceriadara_

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_"They say that blood is thicker than water. What they don't say, however, is that otherwise it's not that strong."_ Rei is the son of the Emperor of China who falls in love with a Russian mercenary with cold crimson eyes. Now, he is caught: will he choose his throne...or his heart?

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Chapter One: Concerto

_To love and win is the best thing. To love and lose, the next best.  
- William M. Thackeray

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_

They say that blood is thicker than water. What they don't say, however, is that otherwise it's not that strong.

In my father's domain, China, family is to be held in the highest regard, and to be put before all at all costs. This unspoken law has inspired many of the peasants and slaves who toil on the land and in the houses day and night, giving birth to a land of loyalty and love. Inside the high stone walls of the palace however, there is quite a different tale to be found.

I awake every day with new bruises on my body - on my cheek, along my jaw, across the small of my back. They are left behind by my father, who despises me more with every breath I take. They are there to remind me that I am only a prince, not yet an emperor, and I have no say in my - or anyone else's - life. They are tokens of his hatred.

I am Rei Xing Kon, fifth generation of the Kon dynasty, and Crown Prince of China. I am revered and loved across the land, and that impersonal love is the only thing of its kind I have ever received. My mother, Xue, died in childbirth. Soon after her death, my father took one of his concubines as his first wife, and gave her charge of me. She promptly assigned a nurse to raise me, claiming that she had "no use for a child birthed by another whore". The nurse was impersonal towards me, as is proper for anyone who serves in the palace.

My father grew to hate me over time. At first, when I was very, very small, he would come and dote on me. This I have gathered from various elderly servants, who claim that he used to weep over me, saying that my eyes were my mother's, and that he would raise me with the love he had given her.

After a few years, however, I barely saw him. I could not remember his face, and when I saw him I could not connect him with the word "father", a meaningless symbol to me, something that I had only been vaguely reminded of having. He finally came to see me on my fifth birthday. My hair was down to my shoulders then, and tied back in a small ponytail. I recall looking up at him, and seeing his eyes shift from gentle to cold.

I have no knowledge of what triggered the change in my father's attitude towards me. All I know is that as I grow older, he gets increasingly violent with his treatment of me. He becomes irritated with me if I have even a hair out of place when I appear in his presence, verbally assaulting me before sending me out of his sight, and order which I am always too glad to follow.

I have changed, my maid sometimes tells me as she makes my bed. I used to be, she recalls, the most precocious and sweet toddler that one had ever laid eyes on. She then tells me that as I grew, my attitude, my personality, seemed to change. I became quieter, more submissive, less troublesome altogether. She says this, and sometimes I think I see a glimpse of sadness in her eyes. I will never speak of this, however, for that would mean instant dismissal. Personal emotions are not allowed to interfere with royal and common interactions such as those.

It is morning outside, the sun peering tenatively over the mountainous horizon. I have been up for several hours now, and I sigh as I greet the sun yet again. I climb quietly out of bed, keeping the winces of pain off of my face as I stretch backwards. I leave my room and head for the only other sanctuary in the entire estate: the library.

This particular library was supposedly my mother's favorite spot in the entire castle. She used to spend hours in here, dusting off books, placing them carefully on shelves, touching up the damaged ones, and letting the words entrap her tightly in their grasp. Sometimes, I wonder if this is where her spirit lives, for while I am in this room I have never once felt alone.

I watch the golden sunlight creep through the wide bay windows like fire, licking slowly up the walls and onto the carved wood shelves. I slowly makes its way to me as I stand, transfixed by the sunrise's beauty, in the doorway. It creeps up my legs and onto my chest, where my long black hair, loose as it always is in the mornings, catches the light and gleams softly. My eyes turn away and look at the bookshelves.

A title catches my eye, and I pull the book down from the shelf, thumbing through it gently first to see its condition. Some of the books in here are from thousands of years ago, and some are much more recent. This one must be somewhat in-between; the pages are just beginning to yellow and become frayed. I sink into the seat beneath the wide bay window and curl my legs under me and let myself be immersed in the book, willing the words on the page to rise up and take me away from this universe of pain and solitude.

* * *

When I at last close the book, the sun is well above the far-off mountains, but it is not the change in time which has brought about a rather abrupt end to my reading; rather, it is an echoing soud which I have never heard before. It sounds like thousands of iron-clad feet, marching in unison. I rise to my knees to peer out of the window, and I am momentarily stunned. 

In the wide greeting courtyard before me stand one hundred soldiers, all clad in iron and bearing weapons. They stop before the large wooden doors of the mansion, saluting their captain before standing still, awaiting something. Their captain, a man with a brawny frame and a goatee, knocks furiously on the wooden door. I hear people rushing on the floor below me, making ready for something - but for what, I am not sure.

My silent query is answered when I catch sight of the captain standing back and my father emerging, dressed in his finest gold-embroidered robes. His black hair is pulled back into the tight bun that all emperors before him have worn, held in place by a small bejeweled crown which will someday sit upon my head...so I am told. I watch as he begins to converse with the commander of the soldiers, and my inbred curiousity gets the better of me.

I gently, silently lift the window latch and slide the window open the slightest bit, hoping that my sensitive hearing will pick up their words. I am lucky, I suppose, for their words drift towards me, clear as daylight.

"We are honored to be of assistance, Emperor," the captain simpers.

"Yes, well, your mercenaries are infamous...just what we need in this war against those vile Japanese insurgents."

I blink. Are we at war with Japan officially now, or is this merely a safety precaution.

"We will annihilate them for you, Sire."

Apparently it is a war. I sigh, wondering when I was going to be informed of this - or if, indeed, I was going to be informed of it at all.

"Please, General Dvorak, come inside and share my midday meal...I am most anxious to confer with you."

"I am honored to accept your invitation, Emperor." The man - General Dvorak - turns towards his men and barks at them, in a language a recognize as Russian, "Y легкость, люди." (1) The soldiers saluted once more before relaxing a little bit. They made their way out of the front gate in straight, ordered lines. Suddenly, Dvorak cried out, "Ivanov, Kuznetsov, Hiwatari! приходитьздесь." (2)

Three of the soldiers turn back and return to him, and he addresses them briefly in a low voice that I cannot hear. He then motions for my father to give his opinion, and he nods in agreement with something the general said. Apparently the matter is settled, for my father and the general make their way inside, followed by the three soldiers. I frown and wonder what exaclty this forbodes.

* * *

I return to my room just in time. A maid appears no less then two minutes after, looking for me. "Master, the Emperor seeks you presence at the meal today," she says respectfully. Seeks my presence - what a term to use. 

"I will go, then. Where is it?"

"It is in the main banquet hall, sire," she replied in her same emotionless tone.

"Alright...thank you, Huan." With a bow, she leaves as quietly as she came, and I began to move about, looking for proper clothing to wear.

It has always been customary for the prince's maids to dress him, but I find the custom to be tiring and useless - I am not so stupid as to not know how to fasten a knot. I informed "my" staff at a very young age that I wished to dress myself, and after the initial shock it was never brought up again.

I slide into sleeveless gold-and-white shirt, and some white, gold-rimmed pants, the colors of the Kon dynasty, and glance at myself in the mirror. The shirt is embroidered delicately, with infinite attention paid to the small details. A long golden dragon wraps around my torso, golden bejeweled flowers sprouting up here and there. I run my hands through my hair and sigh, reaching for a white ribbon that lies on my bamboo dresser. I tie most of my hair back from my face with it, deciding to leave my bangs down. Sliding my feet into my black slippers, I head towards the dining hall, wondering exactly why my father wants me there.

I stop before the large oaken doors and I wonder if I should knock or just enter. Before I could decide on either one, however, my dilemma is solved for me: two servants open the doors from the inside, and I am granted a view of the dais at the head of the hall. My father sits in the center, as usual; the spot on the left, that of the revered guest, is taken by the General. His right side is left open for me, and beside me to my left, the three mercenaries are seated.

"Here, General Dvorak," my father says, "is my son, Prince Rei."

"It is a pleasure, sire," the General addresses me, standing and bowing as I draw nearer to the table. I nod my head, slightly uncomfortable; I do not like the feeling that this man gives me. I take my place beside my father and, out of the corner of my eye, glance at the mercenaries. All three of them had bowed when the doors had opened, and now they gave no sign that anyone else was at the table. They ate silently, their eyes fixed on their plates. I take in their strange appearances slowly.

The one farthest from me has a headful of platinum hair that gleamed in the sunlight streaming in from the high windows. His eyes, or what I can see of them, are a light green, and his skin is paler than paper. He's tall and lanky, with long fingers and a lazy look about him.

The middle soldier looks much more feminine, though he appears to be important enough that he was able to hold his own against other soldiers. He has bright, spikey, flaming red hair, with two slender bangs that fall into cold, blue eyes. His skin is only slightly darker than that of his lanky companion. He sits with a stricter posture and a more guarded feel than the first.

The last soldier, the one who is sitting nearest to me, was by far the strangest in appearance. He has hair that is two different shades: his bangs are a light slate color, while the rest of his hair is a dark charcoal. He is somewhere between the second and first in size, and he is just as pale as his companions. His eyes, however, are what intrigue me most - they are a deep crimson color, something that I have never before seen in my life.

As I watch, these same eyes turn, almost unnoticeably, and our stares meet. I immediatly turn away, almost frightened by the intensity of his eyes...but somehow, it gave me a thrill. I fought the urge to look back again and merely begin to eat, staring down docilely at my plate while my father discusses tactics with the general.

My thoughts are drawn, as if by magnetic force, to his eyes and that look yet again. So many emotions were swirling in those red depths...there was a great power behind the man's hypnotic gaze. Never before had I wanted to meet someone's eyes again like I want to do with him. What should this feeling be called? This restless sensation, constantly growning inside of me?

I bite my lip in frustration, and I continue to eat my meal, determinedly keeping my mind blank.

After a while, I feel my father stand and see the general do the same. My father turns to the mercenaries and me and smiles a simpering smile he reserves for those whom he feels are important and need to be flattered. "Would you mind entertaining my son?" A pause and then he smiles again. "Thank you so much. Please, wait here until we return."

He sweeps out of the side door, the general following close behind, still talking ceaselessly of battle.

An awkward silence falls over the entire hall, as the clink of utensils on plates fades away as meals are finished or pushed aside.

"Um...how would you have us entertain you...sire?" the redheaded mercenary finally asks, gritting his teeth before adding "sire" to his question. I notice this and quickly decide to stop the foolishness.

"I'm no prince to you," I state. "You may spend your time here however you like, be it entertaining or not."

The redhead's voice is slightly less cold as he replies, "Alright, then. Tell me," he says, turning to face me head-on, "Is it true that you were taught the ways of the Shaolin monks?"

"The ways?" I reply. "I'm no monk, if that's what you're implying."

"No," he says, shaking his head. "I'm asking if they taught you how to fight."

"Yuri," the platinum haired boy says with a frown. Yuri looks at him. The man says something in Russian and Yuri visibly pouts before turning back to me again. The man with the two-toned hair has closed his eyes and seems to be meditating.

"So did they?"

"Yuri!"

"Yes," I interrupt, "they taught me how to fight."

Yuri claps his hands in apparent glee. "Then," he says with a smirk that almost makes me shiver, "what do you say to a little...spar with me?"

"...I may as well do something entertaining to pass the time, I suppose," I concede. He stands and pulls me to my feet.

"What will you use as a weapon?" he asked. I glance around for something suitable, and my eyes land on the pole of a bamboo lantern.

"This will do," I say, gently detatching the lamp from the pole and swinging it around in the air once or twice.

"A stick?" he asks with a raised brow.

"I know what I'm doing," I defend. "And your weapon of choice?"

He reaches for his scabbard and pulls out a long silver sword that gleams in the sunlight.

"What are the rules?" I ask.

He ponders for a moment before answering. "First one to surrender loses, obviously. No fatal blows, or anything that can break bones...no foul play...you know the standard rules of conduct, right?"

I nod.

"Good. Let's stick with those for now."

"Alright," I say with a grin. "Ready?"

"Go!" he shouts, and rushes at me, a feral grin on his face.

* * *

A/N Heheheh, I leave you there. . Yes, another story...which I shouldn't be writing...-sigh- I'm horrible. 

Please review!

Oh!

(1) - At ease, men

(2) - Come here


	2. Sonata

**Moonlight Sonata**

_By: Ceriadara_

* * *

"_They say blood is thicker than water. What they don't say is that otherwise, it's not that strong." _Rei is the son of the Emperor of China who falls in love with a Russian mercenary with cold crimson eyes. Now, he is caught: will he choose his throne...or his heart?

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Chapter Two: Sonata

_It is our choices that make us who we are, far more than our talents._

_-Albus Dumbledore_

* * *

I dodge Yuri's blow, but barely. I wasn't prepared for such a sudden attack, and I stumble. Possibilities flash through my mind, and I allow myself to hit the ground. He lunges for my open side, just as I thought he would, and I twist myself in an almost impossible shape, literally allowing my body to throw itself off of the ground and out of Yuri's pathway. 

He pauses, his sword in mid-swing, both eyebrows raised. "I must say, that was impressive."

"That was nothing," I dismiss, "and I get the feeling that you're a better fighter than you're letting on."

"True enough," he says, lunging for me yet again. This time, I am better prepared, and I sway gently out of his way. He attacks incessantly, and we dance all around the room. I can feel the two pairs of eyes following us, but I resist the temptation to look up. I half-fear meeting those crimson eyes again...and I half-hope that the encounter will be as the last one was.

Finally, near the middle of the hall, he gives one last feeble swing before letting his arm lower to his side. "How...how the hell do you have this much stamina? You're not even...panting...and there's not a scratch on you."

He collapses in a heap on the floor, and I place the end of the bamboo stick on his shoulder. "So should I take this as surrender on your part, Yuri?"

He glances up at me and smirks - an expression which I distinctly dislike. "According to the rules of conduct, I'm entitled to call in one person to fight in my place."

A feeling of horror rises in my chest as he stands, showing no signs of his earlier fatigue. This couldn't have all been a ruse...?

"And," he continues, turning to face him companions, "these same rules state that the chosen person must fight, or both their and the previous man's honor will be forever lost. Isn't that right, Hiwatari?"

Cold crimson eyes glare ferociously at the redhead as the other mercenary rises. He spits something out in Russian, words filled with hatred, as he makes his way into the fighting area. He snarls in Yuri's face, pushing him to the side. I catch a glimpse of the redhead's triumphant smirk before he turns away from me.

Kai pulls from his scabbard a long, balanced-looking sword. It is old, I can tell, but well taken care of. The blade is inscribed with a name, written in a language I can only assume is Russian.

"Begin," I hear the platinum haired man say, and he lunges at me as soon as the first echo of sound rebounds off of the walls. I barely have time to react, and am forced to block his blow quickly and return it with one of my own, of rather less strength. He raises an eyebrow, and I can see, in an instant, the workings of his mind: he senses the weakness behind my blow and judges me as one hardened by a life of pampered battles and pulled punches.

Underestimation by the enemy is key in winning these battles.

Smirking with newfound confidence, he comes at me even more quickly than Yuri had, blow after harsh blow. I parry with feigned difficulty, each move obvious as it strikes the pole. My hand absorbs the resonance, and I await my moment. I wait until I feel the wall against my back. I see him draw back his arm to pin me at last, and I seize my chance.

I dart beneath his outstretched arm, and by the time he reacts, I am behind him. He spins, but he is off balance, and I give a light blow to his shoulder, at which he staggers. Righting himself with ease, he lunges, expecting me to parry, but I dodge and he falls forward, catching himself and spinning to face me.

I take the initiative, thrusting forth with a vigor that obviously surprises him. I continue to drive him back, blocking and shifting, locked in perpetual motion. We reach the center of the floor, and it is there that I begin the end of the battle.

I dart around him, increasing my speed with every move. His eyes attempt to follow me, but in reality they are chasing a blur. I land my first strike, a gentle tap at the base of his neck, which he fails to notice. After a few seconds, I land my second and third strikes, a light tap at the back of both knees that escapes his attention. I land my fourth strike easily on the back of his head, and I see that he has noticed it but attributed it only to the light breeze from my movement.

I stop abruptly and land my fifth and final strike, square in the middle of his toned chest. Eyes wide, he reaches to parry, only to find his arm useless. He moves to take a step only to fall to the ground, his legs uncooperative. His head will not lift from the ground.

Yuri and the pale man leap from their seats, rushing to their fallen comrade. They turn him over and watch as he regains his movement. He turns to me as soon as he is able.

"What did you do?"

His voice is intoxicating.

"It's a technique using pressure points. It's what makes the Shaolin warriors so deadly. Had I pressed any harder when I struck you in those five places, you would be dead," I replied. He frowned.

"Your weapon never touched me."

"Light is the touch that breaks the empire," I say, quoting my nurse's favorite saying.

"Words of wisdom," says a new voice. We turn to see my father and the Russian commander. I fight back a shudder: my father's eyes are cold, and I know that I will pay for this transgression of Shaolin code. Instead, I turn and bow to him.

"Emperor…General Dvorak."

The military man returns my bow, while my father barely gives me a nod of his regal head. Dvorak turns to my father. "Your son is exceptionally trained," he comments.

"It was meant to be used against possible assassins…" He raised an eyebrow at me. "Not simply when lacking entertainment."

I hold the blood back, pressing my thumbnail so hard against my palm it begins to bleed, little crimson crescents in the soft cushion-like skin. I try to keep it from pooling into my cheeks, so as not to display any unfitting emotion before an Emperor…before my father.

How sad this is.

"I apologize for my transgressions, sire. You may punish me as you see fit." How often have I spoken these words? Does this sound like familial interaction? Any passing man or woman would hear a peasant talking to their lord, whereas the real transaction is a son speaking to his father…supposedly.

In life, as my father has told me many times, we are each given our part to play, and we must play it to its fullest. This part, however, is not a trivial role: it is who we are, and who we will forever be. He will forever be Emperor, and I will forever be Prince. There are no fathers or sons inside these palace walls.

* * *

The sun is almost setting, and I am tucked away in a far corner in the library, a short distance from the windowsill I perched upon this morning. I have a book lying in my lap, but I cannot bring myself to focus on the characters written there: my mind is filled with crimson eyes and an intoxicating voice that I simply cannot rid myself of. 

What is this?

I am used to complete dominance over my mind, I am used to its compliance to my wish. I have trained it long, by myself. I was taught basic mathematics, and I was taught to read; then, I was left alone to do as I pleased. In China, many believe that the ruler would serve better under a parliamentary government with the Emperor as a figurehead. A figurehead does not require education.

This doctrine is merely a shadow of what my father preaches to me time and time again, but he has not given life to a fool. (I dare not say raised, due to his conspicuous absence in my childhood.) I see what he deals with every day: the taxes, the diplomatic affairs, the long speeches, and I know that he does not have a council that does all of these things for him. I had decided early on that I would not need one either, and thus educated myself.

And yet, today, my mind is preoccupied and full as it has not been in a very long time. I am brimming with thoughts of his skin, his face, his smirk, his voice, his eyes…who is this man? What is this power? Is it magic, perhaps, some kind of trickery?

I hear the library door open and I flinch: a servant would have knocked, which means that it can only be my father. I had not thought him bold enough to breach my mother's last true place and my only true sanctuary, and yet…

I bow my head. "What fresh torture awaits me today, milord?"

"I'm not your anything," a familiar voice states. I blink, stunned when I look up to see the redheaded soldier – Yuri. He is no longer dressed in his army attire, but he is instead dressed in the peasant garb of the servants. He sees my glance and smirks. "I tried to fit in, but my hair wouldn't allow it," he says, and I don't know whether or not he's joking.

He is coming closer, and I can see myself reflected in those eyes the color of the sky. He rests a slim hand on my arm, pressing down in the exact place where one of my ripest bruises lurks. I wince and then flush a dull red, having revealed a weakness. He hisses. "I knew it, I knew it, but they just wouldn't believe me."

He sighs, straightening and pulling me up with him, his grip more relaxed, more gentle. "Come," he says, and it is not a command, but a wish. I almost obey reflexively, but I stop, tugging my arm away.

"Where?"

"To freedom," is his response, his blue eyes burning brightly.

"I am the prince of a nation," I respond. "Freedom is not a part of the bargain."

"And I am a soldier in an army of mercenaries. Happiness was not a part of my bargain, but I found it."

"I have an obligation to fill – "

"To whom, exactly? To your _father_?"

"To my people."

"Your people. The people who, right now, are eating meals with happy and whole families, the people who don't know about your misery and your pain, the people who _just don't seem to care_. Are we talking about the same people here, or am I missing something?"

"…Let me think."

When I close my eyes, I am not thinking of, as Yuri believes, his words. I am thinking of my mother, of the love and care my father had for her, of the love that she had for her people. I wonder how many of her people – _our_ people – cared that she had died. I wonder how many care that she left me behind.

"They are my people." They are my mother's people, but I do not say this aloud.

Yuri shakes his head at me. "This is a chance. I'm trying to spare you – I have suffered enough. You should not have to suffer this. You have your whole life ahead of you – "

"So did you," I spit, "and now look! This is your destiny, Yuri, as this one is my own. Do not try to play around with forces who control this world and all who live in it."

Yuri glares at me, his eyes angry and disbelieving and surprisingly sad all at once. "I just want to spare you pain," he says. There is sorrow in his voice.

"Why?" I suddenly ask him. "Why do you even care? I am no one to you, the son of an Emperor who commands your commander. I am worth nothing to you, and yet you are here."

"I have suffered as you have. I have been forced into a shoe that does not fit." He looks uncomfortable, as though recalling the discomfort of it. "I…I nearly feel compassion towards you. You are the first person in a long time I have sympathized with."

I stare at him, trying to picture this strange mercenary in my place, with my father and my life and my wounds. I cannot seem to do it. "Yuri," I begin, "how did you find your happiness?"

"…When I left for the army."

"And who forced you to do that?"

"…No one."

I look back at him. "You have found your happiness in your own way. Now you must let me find my happiness with mine."

* * *

A/N 

Wow.

I have so many issues with this chapter it's not even funny. Like seriously. I want to re-write this thing, but I need input. Yuri, in this chapter, is too quick to help, it seems. What should I do? –confused-

But yeah. Sorry I haven't updated in a while, but hey, it's here.

Love,

Management


	3. Ballade

**Moonlight Sonata**

_By: Ceriadara _

* * *

"_They say blood is thicker than water. What they don't say is that otherwise, it's not that strong." _Rei is the son of the Emperor of China who falls in love with a Russian mercenary with cold crimson eyes. Now, he is caught: will he choose his throne...or his heart?

* * *

Chapter Three: Ballade 

_The best and most beautiful things in this world cannot be seen or even heard, but must be felt with the heart.  
- Helen Keller _

* * *

After I spoke my words, the conversation was deemed over, and the redheaded mercenary was quickly on his way back to his camp and his commander, I suppose. I sat back on my windowsill, my mind full of the words Yuri had said to me, reeling at the thought that someone who knew so little about me would still care enough to try to do something to ease my pain.

Never before in my life had I experienced such care. Surely the servants cared for me, and my older staff would even go so far as to say that they loved me, and yet no one had offered a hand or a shoulder to me – it was forbidden for servants to display emotion before their masters.

Before I was aware of the time I was lost in thought, the sun had disappeared below the horizon and risen again, flecking the distant mountains with the palest hint of gold. I sigh, looking back down at my abandoned tome, absentmindedly wiping dust off of the yellowing page, my fingers tracing the blackened characters. Thoughts flit restlessly throughout my sleep-deprived mind, settling on no one topic, as a butterfly to a flower.

_Why should my mother's people need me? _

_Freedom isn't part of the bargain. _

_"Happiness was not part of my bargain, but I found it." _

_What is happiness, after all? _

_Something you will never achieve. _

_Achieve…how hard, I wonder, did that man…Hiwatari…work to reach the skill level he possesses? _

_Why am I thinking about him? _

_Why not? _

_His eyes, his skin, his hair, his voice, his smirk, his…everything. _

_Why, why, why? _

Well, that train of thought was rather unproductive, to say the least. And yet as my mind meanders down the path leading to Hiwatari, it slows and it calms, and whispers in the back of my mind lull me into a state of calmness, where things such as happiness and freedom and answers and not quite so elusive, and solutions can be found.

* * *

I'm suddenly in my bed, sitting up. I raise a hand to my head – how on earth did I arrive here? Had I walked? Had I been carried? By who? 

I push these questions to the back of my mind, pushing a strand of dark hair from my face as someone knocks at my door. I frown. It could be my father, toying with my mind. It could be a servant, coming to bring me news. And then…it could be Yuri, come for one last appeal.

"Enter," I call, both afraid and apprehensive, waiting to find out whom exactly lies in wait beyond my bedroom door. It opens, and I draw my breath in with a light hiss. What – where – how - ?!

It is him, standing there, tall and proud, smirking at me, those red eyes glimmering like gems in pale marble. He looms before me with almost god-like perfection, and he speaks at last. "May I come in, then?"

I blink at him, watching him move without waiting for my answer, seeing him approach me without asking if it is all right. Suddenly, he is there, there, and then – HERE, right in front of me, his hand on my face, his fingers curling in my bangs. His face is close enough to mine that I can feel his breath coming in warm puffs of air against my mouth, and I am shaking like never before – but not from fear.

My thoughts slip from decently coherent to befuddled to downright stupefied as his body comes closer to mine, warmer _warmer **warmer**_, and suddenly he is under my sheets and his legs are pressing against mine and his hands are pressing the small of my back, gently tugging me back against my pillows, and that smirk is on his mouth and –

And now his mouth is on mine, and I suddenly can't breathe anymore, much less think.

Everything that follows is a terrifyingly heated mash of skin on skin and lips on skin and teeth on skin, and everything is so hot and so _wonderful_ that I can't even begin to fathom it. My mind is struggling to adjust itself even as my hands pull at his hair, even as my tongue moves to moan his name –

* * *

"Kai…"

I awake from my dream with his name on my lips, soiled and sticky and generally unpleasant, upset, and confused. I can barely stumble to the baths, sliding out of my clothes and into the hot springs. I am stunned, bewildered, and barely able to comprehend what has happened to me.

Certainly, I know what it is; I have been walked through the awkward moments of adolescence well enough through both books and appointed "teachers". I have just never experienced one of such intensity…or with another man. I briefly wonder what my father's reaction would be, but I find myself too drained to really care.

Dressed at last, I drag myself to my room, collapsing on my bed, running repeatedly over the thoughts I had before the dream, the thoughts of freedom and happiness and _of his eyes and hands and mouth and skin and _

That could certainly be the problem. Perhaps, if I avoid thinking of him, avoid speaking to him, looking at him, acknowledging him, it would go away. Or perhaps not. And truly, I have no wish to follow through with my rather drastic plan – I cannot help thinking of him any more than the sun can help rising every day.

My eyes drift shut and I slide away again, this time firmly hoping that I will be able to finally rest.

* * *

When I awake, sunlight is brushing its golden fingers against the floor before my bed. My hair has come loose in the night and it lies, tangled, spread across the pillows like a cloth. I raise myself up, cautious of my bruises, duly noting that no new ones have appeared. 

I curl a thin section of hair around my fingers, working the knots away gently. Slowly, however, my mind slides away and returns to the troubling thoughts and memories of last night. I sigh, knowing that it was a fool's hope that my mind would be entertained by such a mundane task, and I turn my full attention towards my memories.

Words flit through my mind, accompanied by unspoken thoughts, runaway emotions, and crimson eyes. I close my eyes and lean back into my pillows once more, my mind too riled up now to even begin to drift back into sleep. My hand falls still against a pillow.

_What had I given up? _

Freedom; the chance to escape this horrid life; the possibility of happiness. I had turned my back on the ultimate human ideal: to be happy. I had wasted my chance of freedom because I felt some kind of loyalty towards these people…the people who barely cared that I existed.

The people who knew I existed, the people whom I had contact with, either showed no emotion or showed no mercy. The former was my servants; the latter was my father. My father, my Emperor, who wished, apparently, that I no longer existed. It often seemed as though his sole enjoyment in life was making mine a waking nightmare, criticizing my every flaw mercilessly in front of important guests and "meaningless" subjects alike.

My mind turns to my father, almost against my will, and I try to divert the attention onto something else; but once the mind has locked onto a subject, diversion from the subject is nigh on impossible. I think, then, of my father: why has no punishment come? Is he, perhaps, using apprehension to phase me? It is a cruel and merciless tool; it would not surprise me in the least.

I hear the door open, and I peek through lowered lashed to catch a glimpse of who my visitor may be. Black slippers embroidered with gold step into the sunlight, and immediately my heart begins to beat as loudly as a drum.

As though my very thoughts have summoned him, my father advances farther and farther into the room. Although he is tall and masterfully built, he makes no sound as he moves, a fact that has always caught me off guard. I wonder if he is here to wake me and then deliver his beating, or to leave me sleeping and allow me to wake with new blackened skin.

He draws near to the bed, and I feign sleep, hoping against hope that he will turn back, wait, perhaps, until I am awake and can feel the pain more clearly. I feel him sit beside my body on the mattress, and I must fight to keep my breathing even. What is this? What will he do to me?

I fight back the urge to shudder as I feel his hand settle on my forehead. I feel his fingers lightly brush away my unruly bangs that have fallen into my eyes, and then his hand rests there for a while. I hear him sigh deeply, and suddenly his hand is gone from my forehead, replaced moments later by a brief touch of his lips. He pulls back, caressing my forehead again.

"If only you knew, little one," I hear him whisper, "how much you remind me of her. How much I loved her… how much I love you."

And then he is gone, leaving me startled and quite alone to face the wake he has left behind.

* * *

What could he _possibly _mean by that? 

It is later in the day now, and I am in the Hall, dining on breakfast, alone with my tumultuous thoughts. My mind is reeling with blow after blow: a total stranger offers me freedom, my mother is coming up everywhere in my thoughts, red eyes continue to haunt me, and then my father – my abusive, stoic, Emperor of a father, tells me for the first time I can remember…that he loves me.

So buried am I in my thoughts that I do not sense the presence of my breakfast companions until they have been seated and served and Yuri has waved his hand thoroughly about my face for a while.

"Are you alive at all in there?"

I blink and turn my eyes towards him. "Ah, my apologies. I…was not expecting guests for breakfast this morning. Please, allow me to go and – "

Yuri frowns, snatching my wrist and tugging me back into my seat. "As you told us yesterday, you are not our anything. You are not expected to dress for ceremony."

I smile rather nervously at him and place my hands in my lap, my fingers plucking at the dark red strands of fabric that make up my tunic. He shakes his head in what I suppose is exasperation, and he begins to eat his meal. I resume my dining, and I glance over at his companions. They are both silent, eating politely. My eyes dwell for a bit longer on the red-eyed mercenary, but when I see him move as though to glance up, I immediately direct my gaze towards my plate, terrified of meeting his eyes again.

When the two are finished, they leave, looking at neither their fellow soldier nor me. I fight back the disappointment that rises like bile in my throat, and I feel Yuri's bright blue eyes on me. I look up, and his gaze is understanding.

"You're watching him."

It is not phrased as a question, but I answer all the same. "Yes."

"Why?"

I hesitate. "I…I'm not…sure, exactly. There is just something about him that…"

Yuri smiles gently, placing his elbow on the table and resting his head in his palm. His eyes are on the doorway from where the men exited, and they are as soft as when he looked at me. "You want to be near him, and yet you are almost terrified of him. You want to catch his eye, but you dare not. Am I on the right track?"

"…"

My silence is as good an affirmation as any, and Yuri shakes his head, conveying something that I cannot quite understand. He rises from his seat beside me, and he looks down on me, his expression cooler and his face carefully controlled. "Good day to you, Prince Kon."

I begin to open my mouth to question his change of character when I spy two shadows streaming in from the door. I rise as well, bowing towards my father. "Good morning, Emperor. General."

My father looks down haughtily at me as the General bows, speaking to me as he rises. "Good morning, your highness. I trust that my soldier has been…respectful?"

"Perfectly so," I reply as Yuri slides away into the background and out of the door. I begin to leave as well, but am stopped by a wave from my father.

"Remain with us while we dine. It may do you good to listen in upon discussions of war."

Knowing better than to reply with a negative answer, I simply nod and move to sit beside the General, who takes the seat beside my father. I mold my face into an attentive mask and then allow my mind to roam free, knowing that I have not the thoughts for war.

* * *

I find Yuri waiting for me in the library. 

He is running his fingers along the spines of the books, taking one out at random and flipping through the pages idly, with no apparent interest.

I cough to announce my presence, and he starts. He frowns lightly when he sees my ill-hidden smile at his startled face, and he pokes me just below a hidden bruise on my arm. We retreat to the corner where he found me the night before, the silence between us comfortable.

It is he who breaks it, turning to me, his eyes earnest and somewhat sad. "Rei."

"Yuri."

"…I respect your wishes, truly I do, but – "

"No," I interrupt. "To respect my wishes would be to leave them unquestioned." As Yuri's mind struggles for a response, I ask myself again why I am doing this.

In answer, the light touch of my father's hand against my forehead springs to mind_. He loves me? No one has ever loved me before. _

"Please…I wish to make things better for you," he finally begs, his blue eyes burning into mine. "This is no life for anyone to lead, be he a prince or a pauper."

"What life, Yuri? A life of abuse, of loneliness, of lies and deceit? Yuri, everyone lives at least some part of this, and some of them live all of it. You can't save the world."

"I can damn well try." There is a fire in those icy eyes, burning so brightly that it very nearly takes my breath away. "I can try. If I can save…one child, one woman, maybe that will be enough. Maybe. But I'm not so sure." He looks at me, and I feel as though he's looking through me; his mind is suddenly outside of this library, outside of China, back where he calls 'home'. "Maybe if I can save those people I can make up for all the ones I killed…"

His hands are shaking.

"Oh God, I can't believe that I do this, everyday, all the time, because I'm _paid_. I'm like an assassin-for-hire, except I come with thousands of others. And the terrifying part is, _they don't care._ Boris and Kai, they're indifferent to what we do, to who we kill. It doesn't make any difference to them, it doesn't matter that a little girl will never see her home again, a brother will never see his family…they don't seem to realize that someone will have to tell a little boy that Father's never coming home…"

Now he is shaking, trembling, his blue eyes shining with not only fire, but with tears, as though the ice is melting away and running down his pale cheeks.

"I have so much blood on my hands, so much sin…and I can't wipe it all away. I don't believe in a god anymore, because what kind of god would give his creation this much suffering? This much pain? But when I die, my soul is going somewhere, and maybe if I try to save the world, it will be enough…enough to make it a good place…"

I cannot take it anymore. Very gently, as though he is some kind of fine china, I wrap my arms around him, pulling him into a close embrace as I used to imagine my mother would do for me. I cradle his body and he pulls close to my chest, his head resting on my shoulder. I can feel his frame shaking from his tears, and my heart is sobbing alongside him. We rock silently back and forth, until he is finally still, his breathing calmed. He moves to draw away and I let him, my eyes searching his.

"I'm so sorry," I say, and my voice comes out in a whisper. "I'm so sorry, Yuri…"

"And I can't leave." Now he is whispering too. "That's the worst goddamn part. I can't leave this place, because I'm too much of a coward to give up my happiness. It was gone for…for the longest time, and then I found it, and now I can't make myself give it up again, and I feel so _selfish_. And then I meet someone like you, someone who stays from loyalty and kindness and hope, and I feel so ashamed."

"Yuri…" I bring my hand up to touch his cheek gently. "I have never felt the kind of happiness you have. I have been lonely and hurt all of my life, a lone little bird who's afraid to fly. You are far braver and far more selfless than I. I stay because I have never felt that happiness, because, somehow, I am _afraid_ of that happiness. You are so much braver than I will ever be…"

He draws near me again and we stay like that for some time, two completely different people, bound together by a shared suffering.

_You are so brave. _

* * *

A/N Wow.

Okay then.

First chapter of this in a while, and it's longer than the second chapter! Woot!

Anyway. I know that the end was all BLAH and that the wet dream was utter mishmash, and that Yuri would never ever ever break down like that…but I don't care. :P I'm too tired to care, to tell the truth. I DUN WANNA GO TO SKOOLZ. XD

- Management


End file.
